White Lines and Lipstick
by colieshot
Summary: Just a little something I've started. Probably going to continue. It's gonna be good ;


My alarm beeped noisily in my left ear, but I lay still anyway, hoping that those extra few seconds would restore some energy. They never did, but it was nice to lie in bed anyway. After a few more moments, I weakly reached over and hit the off button, and fought against closing my eyes and falling back asleep. I hated mornings. According to my family and friends and anyone else I had ever contacted in the early hours of the day, I was cranky, kept a scowl on my face, and snapped at anyone who talked to me. Even with the kick of caffeine coffee gave, I was not a morning person. My mother appeared in the doorway, looking as tired as I felt, and told me to get up or I'd have to surrender my car to my older brother, who was home because his private school was still on break. I sat up right away, yawning loudly, and completed my usual routine: brush teeth; brush hair; put on outfit; put on some blush and mascara; put on shoes; back up bag; leave. I was never hungry in the morning.

I lived in a rich town, and certain types of dress were acceptable, and certain types were not. Baggy, no-name jeans were a sure way to lose friends. Or a way to not obtain friends, if you had none already. Brands like Hollister and Abercrombie were commonly seen only because they were cheaper than the more expensive, more approved brands. True Religion jeans were everywhere, as well as Sevens, Rock & Republics, and Paige jeans. It was pathetic how shallow the people were, but as a junior, I'd had many years to get used to it. And so that morning, I'd pulled on a pair of dark, skinny True Religions, a white fitted tee shirt with my favorite band's name across the boob area, my premium Nike Dunks, and my favorite sweatshirt: a red and black plaid sweatshirt, with creamy shearling fur in the hood. Total cost: too much. I lazily French braided my hair and swung my bag over my shoulder and headed to the old black Jeep in the driveway. I loved it. It was one of those army-looking Jeep's, not at all girly, which was awesome. The day I finally had the money to split the price with my parents was the greatest day of my life, except for the day I'd met Saosin. My favorite band. Cove was the lead singer, and he was amazing at singing, first of all. I mean, there's all this controversy about Saosin because of lead singers and such. Saosin started with Anthony Green singing, but he quit after like, a week. Sure, I loved Saosin when they recorded that EP with Anthony, but Cove is still just as amazing. Anthony went off to Circa Survive, and Cove Reber started singing for Saosin. And all the Anthony fans are pissed because Cove's singing, not Anthony. You know what I say to all them? They can shove their high heads up their asses, because Cove is just as good, and if Anthony hadn't quit there would be no Circa Survive, and Circa Survive is amazing, and if they don't like Cove, then they do not _have_ to listen to Saosin. Yeah. I get passionate about my music like that.

Music in my town was sadly overlooked. I mean real music, not rap and pop and all that shitty stuff. Ask any boy in my grade who their favorite artist was, they'd most likely reply with, "Eminem" or "50 Cent" or some god-awful rap artist who couldn't sing shit. Not me. Rock was my savior, the only thing I ever listened to. _Alternative rock_. That's what it was, really. Taking Back Sunday, Saosin, Anberlin, A Change of Pace; four bands out of hundreds that I adored. Concerts were what I did on weekends. My job at Eastern Boarder, the snowboard and skateboard shop near my town, paid for the concerts fairly easily, as well as any music I wanted to buy. I was a CD geek, even with iTunes and my own iPod Video in my pocket every day. I had shelves upon shelves of CD's, more than my parents' had. Granted, they went back to when I was in fourth grade, but I listened to good stuff in fourth grade. The Beatles, the Stones, Smashing Pumpkins, and Green Day were some old favorites.

And so every morning when I turned my car on, I plugged my iPod in and blasted some rock as I drove to the high school, giving people a taste of some _real_ music. Remember, rap is crap.

I pulled into the crowded, icy parking lot and turned off my car, smiling at some acquaintances as I walked to the main entrance. Someone caught my eye, though; I smirked to myself. I would have killed to be in that years' senior class. The _dudes_. They were godly. I liked skater boys, rocker boys, boarder boys, and type of non-prep, non-jock, non-geek/nerd boy. Which seriously narrowed down my options, but I liked what I liked. My favorite senior went by the name of Edmund. Geeky name, for sure. But he was beautiful. His attire consisted of Nike Dunks (major points there), fairly tight jeans, but not like some of the skaters at my school, a plain gray tee shirt under a plaid flannel button up (though he kept it unbuttoned), and his skateboard tucked under his arm. His dirty blond hair was shaggy but not overly long, and his blue eyes wee amazing. Yes, I feel the need to describe is wonderfulness to the entire world. He had one best friend, who was really good looking but whose name I didn't know. Then there was his other best friend, Kale. Even I–and I must admit, I have pretty great hair; it's all shiny and long and dark brown–was jealous of his hair. It was this beautiful golden brown, and it was always so silky and long and _luscious._ I would know, since I was great friends with him and the first time I ever talked to him I'd asked to touch his hair. And also asked if he used John Frieda's Brilliant Brunette or something else. How awkward am I, really. The fact that he played guitar made him even hotter, even though I'd never like him more than a friend. I played guitar too, so I figured anyone who played guitar I could relate to, even if all we had was that one thing in common.

I waved to Kale and he walked over, grinning, looking way to sexy for his own good. I kept the smirk on my face though and we walked together into the building; our first class was cooking. Always interesting.

"So last night, did you see how Shaun completely murdered everyone else on the pipe?" he said. The winter Olympics were occurring. And damn, I'd missed it. Shaun White was my idol. I hoped to meet him someday, and we could go boarding together.

Yeah right, but still, I could dream.

"Nah, but I'm pissed. I had some history essay last night and couldn't watch it." I pulled a long face. "But you can tell me _all_ about it in cooking, okay?" I grinned.

"Yeah, yeah. You might want to concentrate on the food, though. Don't want any butter wrappers catching on fire in the microwave." He smirked at me, and I lightly shoved his shoulder.

"Shut up. That was one time. And how was I supposed to know aluminum would catch fire in there?"

"Maybe because you learned that in, what, like sixth grade? And you should just know that stuff anyways," he whispered lowly in my ear. "Besides, you mess something up _every_ cooking class. So that wasn't really the only time." I rolled my eyes and didn't answer, instead greeting Justin Chang, my best friend in my own grade. He was short for a junior in high school, about 5'8, lived for skateboarding, and was the coolest, hottest Japanese kid I'd ever met. We'd been friends since sixth grade, when skateboarding wasn't cool yet and we were the only two people in our grade who liked it. Then we found out we actually had a lot in common, and since then we spent nearly every afternoon together, at first just skateboarding, then branching out to other mutual activities, then gradually just for each others' company, and it didn't matter what we did because we'd have fun anyway. So totally cheesy, yeah. I try.

Kale grinned at me from across the room, distracting me from my scrambled eggs, which were at the moment still extremely runny. I glared back. It was a known fact to my entire class (and by relation, my entire grade) knew that I was a failure at cooking. I even messed up toast. There were several "Cam's Catastrophes" –stories of me and my cooking disasters. First and foremost; the Butter Incident. It was a stick of butter wrapped in aluminum. And I stuck it in the microwave to soften it, that was all. But, of course, it catches on fire, so there's this fist-sized flame revolving in the microwave due to my ignorance in science on what is flammable and what isn't. My first accident in cooking pretty much defines all the rest. Afterwards, there was more fire and less food, to say the least. I turned back to my eggs, wincing at their sudden brownness and glancing at Justin's perfectly scrambled ones.

"Nice, Cam," he said, grinning. "Tell me again why you're in cooking?"

"Fuck off, _Chang_. You might have better cooking skills than most, but that only makes you more of a pussy," I hissed back.

"Touchy today, are we?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Camilla Burton! Language!" chimed my teacher. I rolled my eyes and dumped my burnt eggs into the trash. Justin was laughing.

"So, eventful cooking class, as usual," Kale remarked as I huffed and puffed my way out of class.

"Yes, yes, rub it in, why don't you. I mean, _everyone_ knows I'm a failure at cooking by now. Shouldn't I be less of a victim and more of a, I don't know, regular event? People shouldn't even notice anymore!"

"But it's so damn funny. Therefore, we have to." Kale laughed at my face and put his arm around my shoulders. "You'll see one day, when you're a senior like me. You'll be completely enlightened on all aspects of life. Though, maybe _you _won't. Because you need to know how to cook to be an enlightened senior."

"You are _so_ full of shit," I said. "You don't even know…." Man, I was bad at comebacks. I always thought of them way later, when it wasn't even relevant anymore.

"HA. See, you can't think of anything, because I know everything. You, Cam Burton, have been burned. Want some ice?"

"First, that wasn't a burn, get your facts straight. And what's today, Mock Cam For Being Awful At Cooking Day? Thanks. Thanks a whole lot, Enlightened Senior. That was tactless. Now I don't think I'll give you a cookie at lunch."

Kale made a face. "But you always get me a cookie."

"Not today. And I had an awesome idea, but I guess I won't tell you now, will I."

"What?"

"Nope. You lost your chance."

"Please, please, please. You know you want to tell me." He smirked his gorgeous smirk, and I almost melted.

"Later."

"Now. What if I don't see you later? I might not even go to lunch, seeing as I'm not going to be bought a cookie."

"_I'll buy you a cookie._ I'll tell you at lunch, ok?"

"Sounds great to me." Kale grinned, pushed me into my classroom, and walked off looking like the arrogant senior he was.

"Ms. Burton, late _again_. I am eventually going to have to start writing your name down, you realize," Ms. Marcette, my English teacher and favorite teacher, remarked with her left eyebrow raised as I stumbled into class and noisily dropped my backpack on the floor. I'm not sure why I liked her so much. She was the opposite of me; extremely organized, _old_, punctual, somewhat strict, and humorous. I was only funny because I did a lot of stupid things that usually turned out worse than better. Like taking cooking, for example.

"Sorry," I mumbled, giving my trademark I'm-sorry-I'm-late-and-I'll-try-better-next-time-but-not-really grin. Ms. Marcette just shook her head and walked to the front of the class, her tiny frame straight and perfectly groomed hair in place. I smiled to myself, before taking out the essay due today. English was the one class I tried hardest in. Love of the teacher leads to love of the subject. Never the opposite. The year before, history had been my favorite class. Now, with a teacher bitchier than a prom queen, I hated it with a passion. So goes high school.

"Ms. Burton, you have your essay, I presume?" Yeah, she also always used perfect grammar and fancy words and all that shit that I only tried in English class and usually ended up sounding like some wannabe British noble.

"Sure do, Ms. M," I said, rifling through my back. I must have stuck it in one of the other pockets, because it wasn't anywhere in that one… "_Shit_," I whispered through my teeth. I must have left it at home. Probably while I was looking for my iPod in the bottom of my bag. _Great. _Perfect. This sucked.

And so while everyone else passed in their three-paged essays, which I _had_ done, I sat looking like a wet dog. A tired, kicked wet dog. Yeah. And of course, I had to deal with Ms. Marcette's _disappointment._ I hated when adults were _disappointed_ with you. It was so much worse than yelling because then they just sit there staring at you with this cold disapproval written all over their faces as if in sharpie. I also hate spending English class staring at my desk in shame the entire time. As do most people.

_Lunch_. Finally. Words could not express my relief as I bolted out of English class for third lunch. Only two more periods after, and all I had was science lab (study hall) and then study hall. AKA, spend time with Kale and/or Justin time. I wasn't sure if Kale would go for my idea. Or Justin. It was just something I really, really had to do before, like, getting old.

I was sitting at my computer the night before, looking up bands, and then the realization kind of hit me. I basically sat there thinking, OHMYGOD what if I grow up and get old and never get to be in a band and then I'll never get to do what I love instead of just living in moshpits I'd actually be on stage maybe even singing and AHH how can I not do that holyshitfuck I have got to start a band. Yes, that's my train of thought. I was also pretty much hyperventilating the entire time, too.

Alone. In my basement. On a Tuesday night.

So, basically, I had to start a band or I'd die of convulsions.

Kale waved me over urgently to his senior filled table. It didn't faze me or them now though, as I'd been sitting there for over half the year. The first time was a bit awkward, but I knew the other seniors well enough so that we could say a few words and it would be ok. I didn't know any of them like I knew Kale, though, so my conversations were usually only two-way. I walked over and sat across from him, digging through my bag to find my apple.

"Hola dude," I said, taking a bite.

"Hola to you too. So, what's you're idea."

"Jeez. That's the first thing you say? What, has it been on your mind all day?"

"Pretty much, yeah," he said. "It's killing me. So, tell me."

"Not with so many…people…around."

"What, your loverboys Edmund and Duncan?" Ah. That was the other one's name. And good god, he had no tactics whatsoever.

"Jesus, Kale, loud much?" I said, wrinkling my nose. "They'll hear!"

"It doesn't matter, chill Cam. They won't hear anyway. Are you going to tell me this idea or what? It better be good, I've been waiting for hours."

"God, you'll think it's stupid. I don't even want to tell you anymore. I mean, I didn't even tell Justin, so why should I tell you?"

"Because I'm hotter than Chang, that's why."

"You are not. Justin's a hot Asian."

"I am so. But that aside, just fucking tell me."

"I want to start a band. A real one, not some little project we'll all get bored with. Get what I'm saying? Actually, I don't _want_ to start one. I have to. Like, seriously."

Kale was silent for a minute, apparently thinking. Before he opened his mouth, Edmund leaned over towards me. "You're starting a band? I want in."

"Hell yeah, same," a voice next to me said. It was Duncan.

"Yeah. Definitely. How is that stupid? I wanted to be in a band, I just never took the initiative. Call Justin over, we need a fifth person," Kale said.

"We do?" I said.

"Yes, we do."

"Yo, Justin!" I called to the table over. He looked up and I motioned for him to come over. The three seniors quickly filled him in while I sat back. I was way more successful than I thought I'd have been. _Way_ more. I mean, a band with my two best friends and the two hottest seniors? Too good to be true.

"Sick idea, Cam. Funny how I didn't think of this."

"Real funny," Kale laughed. "Anyways, we need to figure out who's going to do what. I'm on guitar. Edmund's on drums. Justin, please tell me you play bass?"

"I actually don't play anything. But I'll learn. I'm Asian, I learn fast and well. So yeah, I'm your bass man."

"Cool. Cam, guitar? Or vocals? Duncan can do either also."

"He can take up vocals. If he's good. If not, I guess I will…or you Kale…I just really don't like girl vocalists."

"Are you sure you don't want to sing? It's your band."

"Dead sure, Kale."

"And Duncan can sing. Listen to him. Later."

"Sure thing…" I said. This was more perfect than I could have imagined. Sure, Justin had to learn bass, but he could learn everything, so that wasn't a problem. _Oui. C'est parfait,_ that was for sure.

Lunch continued with the five of us discussing a name for the band. This was the first time I'd ever really talked to Edmund and Duncan, but I was not disappointed. They were funny, and acted like teen guys trying to be polite and laid back but getting all excited and animated too. Duncan kept coming up with these long (or one-worded) really stupid names that we'd all laugh about. I think one of them might have been "The Stinky Cheeses." It was hilarious at the moment. By the end of lunch, all of us were doubled over, clutching our aching stomachs from laughing too hard. The names, however, were not going too well, until Justin actually said something serious.

"How about Fractured Lives?"

We were all silent, pondering. Granted, it was the first even remotely legitimate name we'd come up with, but also granted, it was pretty good.

"I like it."

"Yeah."

"Sweet, man."

And that was the end of lunch.

As I walked to my math class, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around. It was Duncan. I smiled somewhat awkwardly and asked what he wanted.

"Nothing really. I just think you should sing. I know I haven't heard you yet," he said at my look, "but it's your band. I don't want you to think we're taking advantage of you or anything," he finished, scratching his head just as awkwardly.

"We'll see what happens on Friday night, ok? Nothing is set in stone here yet."

"Yeah, yeah. Alright. Well, see you Friday."

"Yep. Bye."

I turned around slowly, watching him head off. He subtly dragged his Nike Dunks when he walked, I noticed.

We got to my car; I was driving Kale and Justin, and Duncan and Edmund were taking their own cars. I switched on my iPod and played some old rock before pulling into Kale's driveway. He got us some Diet Coke before leading the four of us down to his basement, where he had his own amp and guitar.


End file.
